


two slow dancers

by basementmixtape



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Post canon, Some angst, They love each other, but kissing!!!, dad!boris, soft, sort of canon compliant, theo helps too, theo isn’t repressed because i say so, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basementmixtape/pseuds/basementmixtape
Summary: “He didn't know what possessed him to come here, what brought him to Boris now. A year of radio silence, a year of chasing changelings, a year of nightmares swept away by his steadying heartbeat, a year of near sobriety, a year of missing the high of oxycontin less than the high of the presence of the only person in the world who knew him the way he knew himself.”Theo and Boris reunite, and everything changes.
Relationships: Theo Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	1. pink in the night

**Author's Note:**

> “And I know I've kissed you before, but  
> I didn't do it right  
> Can I try again, try again, try again  
> Try again, and again, and again  
> And again, and again, and again?”  
> Pink in the Night, Mitski
> 
> TW: mentions of past drug use, anxiety attack.

He didn't know what possessed him to come here, what brought him to Boris now. A year of radio silence, a year of chasing changelings, a year of nightmares swept away by his steadying heartbeat, a year of near sobriety, a year of missing the high of oxycontin less than the high of the presence of the only person in the world who knew him the way he knew himself. He had broken things off with Kitsey two months before, watching her grey eyes shine when he said it to her face, the earrings she put into his hand, her sweep of pale blonde hair, her cheeks turning pink when he smiled at her. He had taken her hands in his, intent and harsh, unforgiving as the desert and the stars that had lived inside of him all the years since he had left the wasteland he grew up in, since he had left Vegas and the ugly memories it held, since he had absorbed the emptiness and the heat and the sky.

" _You were wrong, you know._ " Her sharp grey eyes, cold as winter. If the desert lived inside of him, she was fresh snow, untouched and pale and entirely mismatched to his fiery glow.

" _About what?_ " An intrigued smile, a pale pink blouse, an ankle crossing, glossy lips curled under frosty eyes.

" _I do know what it's like to be in love with the wrong person._ " She stiffened, her smile melting away.

Now, there he stood, shivering in Antwerp on Christmas Eve, standing with his fist poised to knock on the door of the only person in the world who might love him as he truly was. There was a bitter fear on the tip of his tongue, an anxiety so vast and poisonous it might as well have been boiling within him, cooking him from the inside out. He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath. He had to calm down, tranquilize the hummingbird heartbeat in his chest. He let his hand fall, closing his eyes tight, heart hammering in his chest, head spinning, hands shaking. He was too sober for this, painfully sober, why was his heartbeat so loud? Why was his breath so uneven? When did he turn into such a wreck, was it before or after Vegas, before or after Amsterdam, after Antwerp, after this apartment more than a year before? Theo struggled to control the breath in his lungs, it left him in shuddering gasps, little ragged things, creatures taking flight in the air before him. He felt like his body was possessed, something he could look at from the outside, like another person was alive inside of it, he had felt like this before, never before the museum, it was like the explosion had blasted him apart, into two separate entities, the Theo that lived inside his body, and the Theo that lived outside of it, the Theo he was now, the one that never knew how to command control over his limbs, his breath, his hummingbird heartbeat. It was too much, this was too much, what if Boris wasn't even there? He could've been anywhere now, a man with his own international ' _business_ ' was not exactly trapped in the same way Theo was, he was free to roam, free to travel at will, not bogged down with the weight of obligation and expectation. Theo had shed his expectations as best he could, releasing Hobie from selling things at the store, giving him a steady stream of income from the painting, leaving him to his workshop and the dusty antiques they both adored. He had freed himself from almost every obligation left to him. That was why he was here, in the hallway in front of Boris's flat, his heart building a home in his throat.

He took a steadying breath, closed his eyes tightly, and raised his fist again, moving quickly, as though trying to catch himself off guard. He knocked on the door, three hard, urgent knocks, recoiling as though he'd been burned. He stared at his hand in dismay, curling it against his chest, breath finally slowing- no, not slowing. Stopping entirely. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door, slow and measured, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He was home. Theo couldn't decide if he was grateful or terrified.

He took a step back, smoothing his sweater, his coat, his hair, feeling ridiculous for it, feeling ridiculous for everything that had lead him there, to this cursed, terrible moment. He heard the deadbolt being unlocked, the locks on the door, the doorknob, a careful hand, a familiar scent, sour vodka, warm yellow light, messy black curls, pale skin, a sweep of tiny golden freckles. Theo blinked hard, averting his eyes, focusing on the carpet, the floor, his shoes in the dark hallway.

Boris. He looked skinnier than the last time Theo saw him, a pale wraith, all dark shadows under black eyes, hollow cheeks and dark curls. He blinked, the glassy gaze of the drunk or the newly sober. He stepped closer, eyes shifting to a stare that was more intent, if that was even possible. A smile split his lips. His smile had always been sharp, cutting, the edge of a knife, a line of greying teeth that now shone brilliant white, his expression shifting. He was like Theo, he had a wildness to him, the desert of their youth trapped under his skin, between his lungs, carried through his veins with every heartbeat. He had always reminded Theo of a rabid dog. He was something feral, the sharp lines of him, the pointed edges, his spine jutting with his collarbones, his shoulder blades, the concave curve of his stomach, the hills and valleys that made up the ribs Theo used to slide his mouth over, he could still taste his skin, though those hazy drunken nights had happened almost a decade before. He had been raised by the earth and the sky as much as he'd been raised by his father, a dirty creature, a child wearing the body of a man.

"Potter." He finally met his gaze without flinching. His eyes were shining, a sharpness to them that hadn't been there the moment before, his hands falling to his sides. He liked when Boris called him that, the sharp edge of it when it rolled off his tongue, a pointed foreign word, unfamiliar, familiar once, maybe. "What are you doing here?" He stepped closer, and Theo found himself doing the same.

"I-" The words froze in his throat, his heart making itself known, his head spinning, his tongue flinging the carefully planned words away, something else crawling up his throat instead, something vile and unchecked and unworthy of attention. "I think I'm in love with you." He froze, eyes going wide, heart stuttering in his chest. Boris went perfectly still, cheeks going a brilliant scarlet, dark eyes finding his and staying there, mouth falling open, snapping shut again, falling open, snapping shut, over and over again. "I didn't mean to say it like that." He finally blurted, it all came out at once. "I'm so sorry, I-I should go, I'm so sorry, Boris." He turned, shutting his eyes tight, hands tightening into fists at his sides. He started walking, blinking hard, wishing he hadn't been such a moron, wishing he hadn't ruined everything with careless words and a clumsy tongue, wishing the earth would open up underneath him, wishing he would just crumble to dust on the spot.

"Potter." He stopped, not turning, not even breathing, so still he could've sworn the planet scraped to a stop under his feet. "Theo, Potter, don't leave, come inside. Please." Theo couldn't see him, but he knew exactly how he had to look, how he always looked when he pleaded like this, wide black eyes, brows all furrowed and small, his entire body washed white, little spots of colour high on his cheekbones, his lips parted and thin and pinker than anything else in the world. Theo knew him. Even after all the empty years, even though a vast wasteland was unfolding between them, a decade of missed opportunities, a decade of secrets and lies and longing, he knew him. "I love you too."

He didn't move, frozen solid.

He thought of the Classics course he took in university, the varied gods of ice and snow. He felt every one of them breathing down his neck, the touch of winter trembling down his spine, colder than the biting wind outside, colder than Kitsey's eyes, his fear was eating him alive. He felt a hand on his shoulder, let himself be turned, Boris peering down at him, only an inch or so taller now, his dark hair falling in his eyes, his body curling toward him, he followed the sharp line from his shoulder to his collarbone to his neck to his jaw to his knife-sharp mouth. He felt like he was drowning, like his lungs were full of water, of blooming, deadly flowers, the the petals were choking him. Boris had fed him the seeds, watered his love with lingering touches and harsh hands, waiting for the moment he got to see him choke, see him twitching and gasping for breath, coughing rose petals and blood, the thorns cutting him to shreds from the inside out.

"What?"

"I love you too, you idiot." Boris smiled, dark eyes hazy and bright, pale face flushed and delighted, the dirty smell of vodka and cigarettes on his breath. "Come inside, Potter, it seems we have much to talk about, eh?" He followed him on trembling legs. His flat wasn't decorated much, a little Christmas tree on the island in the kitchen, no gifts underneath it, it was full of books, a little messy, novels piled and folded and teetering in corners instead of on shelves, blankets strewn on couches and chairs, empty bottles of liquor scattered all over. The T.V. was dark and silent in the living room, a book propped open on the table, his page marked with a pencil. Apparently he'd been drunkenly annotating some dense russian novel to celebrate Christmas Eve.

"Sit, Potter, tell me why you're on my doorstep at Christmas. What prompted little trip?" Theo stiffened, settling on the couch, watching Boris sit beside him, a careful distance still breathing between them.

"I was thinking about you, back in New York, I broke things off with Kitsey months ago, she had this horrible talk with me, said I didn't know what it felt like, how she felt-" He swallowed. "She said I didn't know what it felt like to be in love with the wrong person." He couldn't look at him. He stared at the blank, black mirror in front of him, looking at Boris reflected in the dark glass screen, his intent gaze, his baggy buttoned shirt, his loose trousers, his wrists, the way his hands were clasped over his knees. "And, I couldn't stop thinking about you. It's always been that way, ever since I left that stupid desert I've been running from it, but it's true, I know what it's like to love the wrong person, to love the person that isn't meant for me, the person that, the person that knows me properly, well enough that they might actually manage to love me if they tried." His voice broke, and he cringed, wiping at his eyes, hating himself for crying, hating himself more when he didn't stop talking. "I don't think anyone has really loved me, not since the museum, that's what I thought in New York anyway, but here you are, and you're, you're saying-"

"I love you too, of course I love you, Potter. God, how can you be so remarkable and smart and such a moron at the same time? It is amazing, truly." His laughter died, voice shifting until it was gentle, soft as velvet. "I thought you knew, since we were children I have loved you."

Theo let out a sharp breath and gathered his courage. He didn't look at him, not directly at least, focused on the glassy black screen in front of him, his hand sliding into the space between them. He took Boris's hand in his own, and a shudder rolled through him, an ugly sob climbing his throat, vision blurring with tears until he was nearly blinded by them, his shoved at his eyes, forcing his glasses away. Boris shifted, and suddenly he was surrounded by warmth, by strong, familiar arms, by the smell of him, ivory soap, the citrus shampoo he used, the cigarettes, the vodka, the rain, the dry smell of Vegas in the summer. Boris had his mouth pressed into his hair, carefully taking his glasses off of his nose, holding him so tightly he almost struggled for breath, Theo could feel his heartbeat, a little too fast, he felt his breath in his hair, also a little fast. An ugly smile split his lips, tears soaking Boris's shirt.

"Shh, Potter," His voice was so gentle, still velvet soft, still smooth and comforting, his warm body, the weight of his limbs all around him. Curled against his chest, he was Theo's whole world, the expanse or white skin under his white collar, his black trousers, his pale hands with the fingernails bitten away, his pink mouth, his black eyes, his black hair, his humming voice and thundering heartbeat. "Shh, is only me." He let out a startled laugh, the memory from their shared childhood startling and oddly effective.

"I love you." He said, his voice was small and awestruck, as though he had just come to the conclusion. "I love you." He repeated, and Boris nodded.

"I know you do, I love you too." They both laughed, sharp and quick, the silence was stiff when it faded, both of them so close they were sharing breaths.

Boris kissed him first. His hands trembling as they found a place at his jaw, his mouth tender and soft against his, every touch gentle, and warm, and sweet as sunlight on his skin. He could feel his lips like a warm day in July, like the heat in the middle of summer, like a gentle and welcome burn. Whatever emptiness lived inside of them, they filled with aching touches, with unhurried kisses as gentle as the touch of grass blades on the wind, they were a warm day, they were a peaceful, untouched painting, a landscape so perfect it had to live on canvas. Theo felt untethered, the Goldfinch in its little frame, the golden chain cut, no longer fated to flutter and flutter and always land in the same place. He could soar, he could leave the person he was destined to be, become the person he wanted to be, he could trade gentle kisses with Boris for the rest of his days, spend every waking moment with his mouth moving with practiced grace against his and never tire of it. He felt like a starving man, like someone who hadn't eaten in a thousand years, presented with a meal and prompted to do nothing but consume.

He pulled Boris closer, one hand curling around his wrist, the other tangling in his hair, his mouth moving with his in careful, measured increments. He had craved this for years, he was hungry, he wanted to take and take and take. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, tongue sliding over his bottom lip, feeling him shudder, feeling his breath in his mouth, then his tongue against his. Boris pushed him back against the couch, clumsily crawling into Theo's lap, legs bracketing his hips, mouth warm and insistent against his, a hand leaving its place at his jaw to flatten against his chest, fingertip curling soft circles over his sweater, lips curling into a smile around their kiss.

He leaned away, breathless, eyes flying open. Boris was just looking at him, dark eyes intent, entire face and neck crimson, his expression nothing short of downright joyful, the heat of them fleeing with the kiss, fading to the gentle pulse of springtime, the warmth that gave way to an undercurrent of what was left of the winter chill.

"Stay here," Boris said, resting his forehead against Theo's. "Please, just for a while longer, don't leave me again, I could not bear it." Theo smiled, ignoring the fuzziness in his vision, tucking his hair behind his ears, Boris's hair was surprisingly soft, his curls cleaner now than they had ever felt when the two were teenagers.

"I'm not going anywhere."


	2. bag of bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I can take a little bit more  
> Let's shake this poet out of the beast  
> Just a, just a little bit more  
> Let's shake this poet out of the beast“  
> -Bag of Bones, Mitski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay fic is getting longer than i expected so don’t worry if the predicted chapter number changes i have another 10k words written i just have to edit them.
> 
> im not very happy with the way this chapter turned out so gentle reminder than this is entirely self-indulgent fluff and it isn’t meant to be taken seriously ,, enjoy my pile of garbage

Theo stayed in Antwerp much longer than he ever planned to, spending sunlit mornings with Boris in bed, long stretches of days doing nothing but touching each other with reverent hands, Christmas spent trying to make homemade gingerbread, smearing icing on the tip of Boris's nose. He had never felt this way, so in love he ached with it, so in love he felt it like a spreading, throbbing pain in his chest, he swore it would kill him to part from Boris now, Boris with his russian novels scattered all over the flat, with his dark suits crumpled in corners, with his expensive cologne and cheap shampoo, with his steady hands and trembling heartbeat.

It was three weeks after his arrival when he got the first message from home.

KITSEY BARBOUR: _Mummy is having a dinner, her and Platt desperately want you to come, I know we aren't together anymore but she really does adore you, Theo._

Boris peered at the text over his shoulder, laughter punching out of him almost violently.

"She still sends you these things? She must miss you, Potter, is almost sad." Theo rolled his eyes, fingers tangling with Boris's. He imagined Kitsey back home, sending him this from Tom Cable's bed, her long sweep of white blonde hair a halo around her, both of them happy instead of complacent. A smile curled his lips.

"Mrs. Barbour has known me since I was a child, Bor, of course she wants me around." He typed a quick reply, hesitating only a moment before he hit send, wondering idly if she would understand or hate him for abandoning her family in favour of a love she knew nothing about.

THEO DECKER: _Sorry, Kit, I'm currently in Antwerp. Remember what I told you about loving the wrong person? Turns out we were both being fools, I've been here for three weeks now, and I don't think I ever plan on leaving again._

Boris grinned at him, pulling him into a quick kiss that quickly devolved into grasping hands and hungry mouths, his arms around Theo's head, pressing him into the couch, unbuttoning his shirt with steady hands.

It couldn't last forever, especially considering Boris had a wife, and what appeared to be an international criminal empire to run, but they did little but lay around his flat drinking and kissing and fucking for months after that, and when Boris had to go to work, Theo followed, learning scraps of Russian, learning how to hold a gun, learning a lot more than he ever wanted to learn about Boris and his business. There were a lot of drug deals, a lot of pretty girls and very expensive restaurants, a lot of mistakes piled at their feet.

They wound up in Sweden, where Boris insisted they find his wife so he could get a divorce, and so he could see his children. Apparently he had twins.

" _They are beautiful!_ " He had told Theo, drunk and joyful one night. " _They have her eyes, so grey, and my hair, except for Klara, her hair is brown and golden like Astrid. Klara and Natalya and Nikolai, they hardly know me, they hardly know me and my blood is in their veins! We must change this, Potter._ "

Boris lead him down winding streets to a small, warm looking house shrouded in snow, warm light glowing in the windows. He pressed a kiss to Theo's knuckles before he got any closer, taking a steadying breath and holding his hand a little tighter.

"I haven't been here for months, Potter." Theo pulled him closer, gripping the back of his neck and pressing their foreheads together. Boris closed his eyes tight, a heavy crease between his brows. The years seemed to rest heavier on him then, often Theo forgot that Boris was a little older than he was, but right then, the year between them seemed to stretch into decades. "I'm scared."

"It'll be alright, Bor. Even if the worst happens, you still have me, you'll always have me. Go tell her the truth, and I'll be right here waiting for you." He ran a careful thumb over his cheekbone, smiling slightly when he leaned into his touch. "I love you."

"I love you too, Potter."

Boris took a steadying breath and pulled away, leaving Theo to smoke anxiously while he arranged a divorce with Astrid. What if something went wrong? What if she cried, begged him to stay, clung to him and convinced him to leave Theo behind forever? The terrible possibility of Boris changing his mind was the frequent subject of Theo's nightmares, he had always been anxious, but this fragile love he had found was so precious to him that the idea of losing it was worse than anything he'd imagined in recent memory. Losing Boris would be like losing a limb, they were moulded together by the hands of time, by memory and love and trust.

Theo felt like he was drowning, the terrible thoughts swallowing him whole, when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Boris was back outside, two children with him, both about eight or nine, with thick black curls and sharp grey eyes. They both clung to Boris, both had sharp features like he did, a girl and a boy, nearly identical except for their differences in gender, the boy was slightly taller, the girl shorter, in a red dress with her hair arranged in curly pigtails atop her head. Both looked very disturbed, both were trembling slightly, the boy was cradling a much smaller child in his arms, a toddler wrapped in warm layers.

Boris was stiff, holding their hands and staring at Theo helplessly, he took the littlest from the boy, holding it apprehensively.

"She said to take them and go, she said she wanted no part of me, including them." He was shaking. Theo studied the children and made a sharp, instinctive decision.

"Hello, I'm Theo. I'm dating your father. What are your names?" The girl's grey eyes went wide when he offered his hand. She shook enthusiastically, he didn't speak in a patronizing tone, he talked to them the way he talked to adults, as someone equal.

"I'm Talia. Technically Natalya, but nobody calls me that really." She had a thick accent, Swedish and Russian at the same time. Her hand was so tiny in his. She nodded her head to the baby Boris was holding. "That is Klara, she's the baby, bigger now, nearly two." She did look a little heavy in Boris's arms, her hair was lighter than the twins, a honey brown, her eyes weren't grey like theirs either, they were the darkest, blackest brown. She had her father's eyes.

The boy took his hand next, a little more apprehensive. He looked nervous, pale cheeks flushed red with cold, a soft sweep of freckles on the tip of his nose and the backs of his arms.

"I'm Klaus, well, Nikolai, but really I'm Klaus." Theo grinned, dropping his hand, looking into Klaus's intent grey eyes.

"I'm Theodore, really, but nobody calls me that unless I'm in trouble." He winked at them, and earned twinned shy smiles in return. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, I'm certain we'll be spending lots of time together." He looked up at Boris, who was staring at him with barely disguised wonder, a slow smile spreading across his cheeks. "Are you coming back to Antwerp with us?"

"I guess so, mother said we weren't to come back because Pappa is a homosexual, she was very angry." Klaus said matter-of-factly, grey eyes rapt and attentive, he didn't say it cruelly, he said it factually. "But honestly, you don't seem like the devil she said you were, she was being quite unreasonable."

"Come on, do either of you like hot chocolate? Your Pappa and I saw a lovely café down the road from here-" He was cut off by Talia abandoning Boris's hand to grab his arm, her tiny hands icy in the winter air. She wasn't even wearing a coat. He shrugged off his outer layer, a thick black coat that was woollen and warm, helping her into it, then grabbing her hand.

"They love hot chocolate." Boris said, smiling and pulling Klaus closer.

"Say," Talia said once they started walking, swinging the arm connected to Theo's slightly, her tiny hand warm in his now. Klaus had gotten Boris's coat, a dark blue thing made of soft wool like his in a different style. "If you're dating Pappa, wouldn't that make you our father too?" Theo felt a strange iciness in the centre of his chest, almost like fear.

"I suppose it would mean that, yes." She smiled, thoughtful and small, really just a tiny person, a little adult who hadn't grown into herself quite yet. He wondered if he had been so bright when he was that small, he doubted it.

"So, what do we call you then?" Theo glanced at Boris, who looked vaguely panicked, a sudden clarity rushed through him. He looked at Klara, who was smiling into the snowy air, at Talia, marching dutifully beside them, at Klaus, with his intelligent eyes fixated on the snowdrifts and the sky.

These children weren't just children, they were Boris's blood, the only kids he would have if he and Theo stayed together. He thought of his own father, with his distant eyes and his angry words and his bruising hands, his drunken rambling, his recklessness, and his suicidal, violent end. He never wanted that for the tiny girl beside him, for the boy that clung to Boris like a man caught in a hurricane, for the toddler wrapped in pink and blue.

"You can call me whatever you'd like, Talia." She swung their linked arms again, looking thoughtfully at the buildings around them. The café was getting close.

"What is the American one, the one on the television?" Klaus spoke.

"Dad, that's what they call them in America, right?" Theo nodded, Talia looked satisfied.

"Dad, then," A little smile cut over her cheeks, sharp as a knifes edge, just like her father. "Or Theodore, if you're in trouble."

He opened the door for them into the busy café, a sudden hum of foreign tongues replacing the winter quiet he'd found outside. Boris nudged him as he walked past, and when he joined them in line, he leaned his head against his shoulder.

"Thank you, Potter. I didn't expect this, truly. She is signing divorce papers tonight, I will be free soon. Free for you, I guess." Theo stiffened, looking down at the twins, who were clearly pretending not to listen to them.

"What are you saying, Bor?"

"I'm asking you to marry me, Theo." He said, casual as anything, smiling at the barista and ordering in rapid Swedish.

"You're- you-" Theo spluttered, face burning and probably crimson, Boris guided him by the arm to where they had to wait for their drinks. " _What?_ "

Boris grabbed Klaus, handing him Klara and taking a little black box from his coat pocket, smiling at him, and getting down on one knee in the middle of the crowded café, the entire place falling silent in an instant.

"Will you marry me, Theo Decker?" A simple gold ring was in the box, with something engraved on it, Theo couldn't quite make out what, with it nestled in black velvet.

All of the ridiculous doubts he'd had not ten minutes before were bouncing around inside him, hitting soft insides with sharp edges. Boris had never been faithful, despite the name they gave him, he was as inconstant as the moon, changing, wild as the wind and the sand and the stars. This would be the second time Theo got engaged without thinking too much about it, about Kitsey, with her icy beauty and poise, about Boris, the unwholesome impulsive mess of him, about the children around them that would become his in an instant. He knew this time was different, this time it wasn't some aborted attempt to placate a dying woman, it was based off real affection, off years of bonding and passion and pure, unquestionable love. Theo didn't often face decisions quite so easy to make.

He smiled, nodding frantically, his heart rising in his throat, head spinning and swooping with every heartbeat. Boris slid the ring on his finger, and Theo suddenly managed to find his voice.

"Of course I'll marry you, idiot." He pulled him to his feet, and kissed him, just once, right on his sharp mouth. He looked at the ring, unable to fight a smile. "I've loved you since we were children." The little Swedish café was awash in shades of gold, smiling strangers applauding for the love alive between them, Klaus and Talia looked like they were in a daze, holding up Klara.

Theo looked at the ring again, running his fingertip over the shining metal, disbelieving. On the inside of the simple band there was an engraving, a tiny bird in flight.

"We're free, Potter."

Theo kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want them to be happy please donna tartt

**Author's Note:**

> i choose to believe boris has a wife and children because i am a Fool, take that as you will.  
> this started as a oneshot but it’s currently at like 15k words so im splitting it up, i also based this off the book not the movie so boris isn’t short  
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!!  
> thank you for reading :)
> 
> fic title is from the song ‘two slow dancers’ by mitski


End file.
